


The Ends and The Means

by thestrangestbyer



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: (sort of), M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 01:37:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestrangestbyer/pseuds/thestrangestbyer
Summary: “I’m Dave.” He offered his hand, and Klaus grasped it.“Klaus.”Then Dave smiled at him, and it was soft and sweet. Much too gentle for a war-zone. Alarm bells started ringing in Klaus’ head; trust him to meet a gentlemen in the worst possible place, possibly ever. Dave gave him one last smile and a lingering look before they both turned back into their seats. Klaus blew out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding.Shit, he thought, that smile is gonna get me in trouble.AKA The steps Klaus takes through life, to fall in love and to save the world.





	1. Prologue (Step 1. Time Travel)

Step 1. Time Travel

The lady across from him on the bus offered him a friendly, sympathetic smile. Beside her, a ghost who had followed him onto the bus stared at him, irritably. Klaus avoided eye-contact with both, but- living or dead- people were nosy, persistent buggers, and the woman just kept on looking. She’d already given him a cursory glance, indifferent in the way that most people were on public transport, but her indifference had given over to curiosity as she’d taken in his appearance. He was aware that he didn’t look too hot. If the sheen of sweat on his skin hadn’t been unattractive enough, his body had also become a canvas littered in bruises. He was unwashed, dirty, beaten and going through withdrawal. He looked like hell, probably. Had certainly been through it. So, just his average weekday look then. The lady was trying too hard not to stare, especially considering they were directly opposite each other and accidental eye contact was sort of impossible, and her curiosity had melted into concern. It surprised him. How odd that there were people out there who could be concerned for strangers. It was a naive sort of  kindness, he thought, to always believe the best in others. He could be a murderous, crazy man, for all she knew.   

The kindness would’ve been welcome, once maybe, but he didn’t think he could stand it now. Kindness didn’t sit right with him anymore; he wouldn’t know what to do with it. Part of him worried that if she spoke, if she offered any sort of help, he would completely and utterly break apart and never put himself back together again. Not that he was all that _together_. But he had his coping mechanisms, thank you very much, and he didn’t need a strangers pity or comfort. He closed his eyes with a dramatic sigh, leaning back, and clutched at the briefcase.

“The bastards got me on this bus,” The ghost said, mournfully, interrupting Klaus’ silence. “They stabbed me. Right here.” He gestured at his bloody knife wound, just in case Klaus had missed it.

“Stabbed in broad daylight, can you believe it?”

Klaus rolled his eyes and resolutely ignored the man. Ghosts, they were all the same. Too angry or sad at being dead to actually pass on properly and leave the living for good. 

“I never told my wife that I loved her.” The ghost continued, in the same gloomy tone. And then: “Are you listening to me? Don’t you understand? You have to do something.”

Klaus stared wearily at the ceiling. God, he’d been sober for far too long.

“Christ, please shut up.” He muttered, quietly, under his breath. Like a whispered prayer. The kind, concerned (alive) lady heard him anyway and frowned. He glanced up at her, saw the way her brow was furrowed in worry, and he knew that any second now she was going to say something, something simultaneously intrusive and caring, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that. As if annoying ghosts weren’t enough- the living wouldn’t leave him be either.

So, he deflected the only way he knew how: with a façade of flirt and scandal and mischief. He smirked at her openly, relaxing into his aching limbs. He was just your every-day, half-naked and tortured man, taking a ride on the bus with his big ol’ suspicious looking briefcase.  Nothing to see here. He spread his towel covered legs slightly and her eyes inadvertently followed the movement, before she caught herself in embarrassment. Her eyebrows shot up, flustered. He winked at her, but his eyes said what they needed to say.

_Mind your own._

She looked away.

Meanwhile, the ghost continued to ramble, making demands, in the desperate way that ghosts did. And damn it, he’d had enough of _people_ , every single one of them. Dead or alive. He wished they would all kindly fuck off. But, like he said, he had his coping mechanisms, unhealthy as they were. Blissful oblivion awaited him, except…He gritted his teeth. The issue of money.

 He turned his attention to the briefcase in his lap and swept his hands up and down the sides. It was smooth, dark leather. Possibly expensive. He slid a nail- perfectly painted still because, well, _priorities_ \- under one of the silver clasps and flipped it open. He flipped the other open too and sent a silent prayer heavenwards. He prayed for money, or something valuable. Hopefully valuable enough that he could spend a few weeks blissfully forgetting his own name. He smiled dreamily at the thought and opened the case.

And in a swirling flash of electric blue light, he was gone.


	2. Step 2. Endlessly and Recklessly put yourself in danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Klaus is an emotional mess, but in the war-zone. Also, he meets his team and Dave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I know shit all about being in the army. Especially being in the Vietnam war. My knowledge comes from vague memories of high school history lessons and Google.com, so feel free to correct any of this.  
> Warning: This chapter discusses suicidal behavior.

Step 2. Endlessly and Recklessly Put Yourself in Danger

He’d swear blind to anyone who’d listen that the reason he stayed in Vietnam ’68 for as long as he did was for Dave. But that was a lie.

Klaus Hargreeves stayed in Vietnam to die.

 ***

Klaus knew the pamphlets inside and out. He’d seen them scattered over tables in rehab, across therapist desks and in doctors’ offices. He could probably recite a dozen ‘get help with addiction’ leaflets off of the top of his head. They were all the same, with fun titles like _What to Do When No-One Loves You_ and _How to Deal With Daddy Issues 101_ (okay, maybe he was paraphrasing the titles slightly), as if there was a step by step guide you could follow and come out okay. So, he could recognize his own behaviors pretty well. He knew the symptoms. Drug and alcohol misuse, check. Feelings of sadness and anger, check. Uncharacteristic or reckless behavior. Check, check and check. He was a walking example of all the warning signs, straight from a leaflet:  _Recognizing the Signs of Suicide._

In Vietnam, though, his ‘symptoms’ were each mans’ every day state. Uncharacteristic risk taking and recklessness slipped under the radar when you were firing at the enemy, and getting shot at right back, and any day could be your last. At the end of the day, they were just bodies, and the US army needed as many as it could get. So if you wanted to throw yourself into the line of the fire, if you were constantly risking life and limb to save a fellow soldier, well. What did it matter to anyone?

Klaus had lived his life irresponsibly and wildly and thoughtlessly, probably since he was 13. He’d barely escaped death, on multiple occasions. And he was fully aware of that. It was a deliberate choice.

It was hard to explain to anyone that wasn’t him who couldn’t see directly into his head and his thoughts. It was like this: his link to the spirit world had meant that he’d spent his life walking a thin line between the world of the living and the dead. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing quite like a constant connection to the spirit world to remind you of the futility and fragility of life. He’d seen death, and he’d seen life, and had concluded that both of them sucked ass. That was, obviously, quite a fun realization for a young kid to have. His entire childhood had been plagued with existential crises. 

Alcohol had made it all suck less. Then drugs had made it all suck less, oh and also, wasn’t life so much more fun? Then both combined, well. Life was fucking glorious for a while.

The point was. Klaus had faced life and death at ten years old. And something about that made him a little too comfortable with dying. He discovered that in the war.  
  
***

_1968- Vietnam_

The blue light of the briefcase blinded and electrified him. His entire being felt fried and his insides scrambled. He had landed on his arse, half naked and completely disorientated. He looked up, and registered the eyes of several men on him. Armed men, in fact, one with a gun trained on him. He frowned. He was in a tent. An army tent? For what war?

_What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck._

As he tried to quell his rapidly beating heart, he locked eyes with the equally confused-looking and half naked man in front of him. They stared at each other and a few long, silent seconds slipped by. The man, who was gorgeous- hey, even when dazed and traumatized Klaus could appreciate art, okay- opened his mouth to say something.

And then the explosions started, loud and unforgiving. The entire tent trembled from the force of it. With a confused yelp, he covered his ears against the noise, it was so _loud_ , like nothing he'd ever heard before. The sound, combined with his new bout of withdrawal, and whatever the fuck the blue light had just done to him, made his head ache agonizingly. He groaned. Urgent shouting filled the tent, and there was a mad scramble of movement and yelling.  Klaus felt himself being pushed up to his feet, despite his frantic objections, and he looked wildly around, still clutching the briefcase to his chest. Orders were given to him in quick succession and still he protested. No-one paid him any attention. It looked as if no-one gave a damn if you appeared in an explosion of blue from nowhere, there was a war to fight and blue light or not, you were one more body. 

“Put that down, for fucks sake, what are you playing at?”

The briefcase was torn out of his hands and replaced with a bundle of clothing. Klaus blinked down at the pants in his arms. Some-one slapped him round the back of his head.

“Hey!” Klaus complained, glaring. “The hell?”  
  
“Put them on then. Fast!”

On auto-pilot, Klaus scrambled into the spare kit he’d been given and wondered how the hell he could explain his way out of this situation. He stood and watched blankly as the other men around him dressed quickly and efficiently and grabbed for their weapons

“Um,” He said and the man who’d thrown the pants at him spotted him and rolled his eyes.

“Goddamn greenies,” The man said in exasperation.  “Here.” A helmet was rammed onto his head and a rifle was shoved into his arms. He looked down at it. The soldier looked at him pointedly.

“Put it on! Jesus, are they even bothering with basic training anymore?”

Awkwardly, Klaus fumbled with the rifle strap and slung it over his shoulder.  _Him_. And a rifle. Christ on a bicycle. He adjusted the straps a little more before looking back at the man in askance. The man just rolled his eyes.  
  
“You’ll do. Grab your case, although I don’t know what the army thinks it’s playing at if that’s the new standard regulation kit.” The soldier shook his head and then grasped Klaus’s shoulder in reassurance.  
  
“You’ll be fine. We’re not going into the line of fire yet, they’re just moving us away from the shellfire, we’ll get you kitted out when we’re back at base and you can try to be less useless, yeah?” It wasn’t said meanly, and Klaus managed a feeble, shell-shocked smile in return.  
  
“Yeah,” He agreed. The man nodded, slapped Klaus on the shoulder, and grabbed his own things.

“Alright, lets go then, greenie.” He said, and started to walk out of the tent at a brisk march. Klaus hurried to keep up. As they were climbing onto the bus the man said, over his shoulder: “The names James, by the way.”

“Klaus.” He returned. 

“Alright, Klaus. Come find me on base. I’ll help you out.” They nodded at each other, and James turned to stow away his gear. Klaus headed to the back of the bus, sat himself down, sighing, and kicked his briefcase under his seat. Safe. Then he turned to stare resolutely out of the dusty window.

What the hell was going on?

 

***

 

He figured out pretty quickly that the briefcase must have somehow transported him either through space or time, because hey, his life wasn't weird enough already. And wasn't it just his luck that he'd apparently landed in a war-zone, too! Truthfully, he was half-convinced that he was hallucinating and was still trapped with his two torturers, tied up and delirious. But, no, he'd sobered up, he remembered. Still. There was no-one around to ask, not that he could conceivably ask anyone anyway, not without sounding crazy. The only person he could ask, to see if this was all real, was his dead brother's ghost, and wasn't that a hilarious thought. The idea that he had to check with his dead brother to see whether he was sane or not? It was like his entire life was a joke at God's expense. Ben had yet to show his ugly face, though, and so for now he was stuck. Whether that was in his own hallucinating mind or in an actual war, he'd find out soon enough, he supposed.

The bus certainly felt real. It was uncomfortable and stifling hot, bumping along the dirt road. He spent the first ten minutes silently trying not to panic, and failing.

 _It’s okay, Klaus, just ride it out,_ He thought, _Just open the briefcase again when you reach… base? Then, wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am, the nightmare will be over._

He nodded. Right, he was fine. Totally fine. Just in the middle of a warzone, apparently. In the past. No biggie. He’d barely had time to freak out in his head before he was interrupted again, by a warm hand on his shoulder. He turned and- oh. It was the gorgeous, confused-looking soldier from before.  
  
“You just get in country?” The literal walking, talking statue of Adonis asked. 

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He answered, lamely. They shared an awkward laugh and Klaus absent-mindedly wondered why this man was making an effort to speak to him. 

“Shit’s crazy I know.”

“Yeah!” Klaus agreed, possibly a little too vehemently.  _Shit_ was  _crazy,_ He thought to himself, privately, _More than you could know, sweetheart._  

 “You get used to it.” The man reassured him, and then paused when it was clear Klaus had nothing to say in return except for staring at him doubtfully. “I’m Dave.”  
  
He offered his hand, and Klaus grasped it.  
  
“Klaus.” 

  
Then Dave smiled at him, and it was soft and sweet. Much too gentle for a war-zone. Alarm bells started ringing in Klaus’ head- trust him to meet a gentlemen in the worst possible place, possibly ever. Dave gave him one last smile and a lingering look, the type Klaus was _very_ familiar with,  before they both turned back into their seats. Klaus blew out a breath he hadn't realized he’d been holding.

 _Shit,_ he thought, _that smile is gonna get me in trouble._

 

***

 

Klaus learned very quickly that war was as hellish and also as boring as he’d imagined. It was strange, to constantly switch between adrenaline rushed near-death experiences, and then endless hours sitting around in hot army barracks, waiting for orders.  
  
James got him kitted out with the essentials the moment they hit base, and had practically cried with frustration when he found out Klaus didn’t even have dog tags.  
  
“Seriously, man, how the hell did you even get here?” He’d cried. Klaus had just laughed at him; he kept asking himself the same question. From then on, James, for whatever reason, stuck to his side. For once, Klaus found that he didn’t mind the company too much. For one thing, James had endeared himself to the people who ran the mess hall, and always had extra scraps of the best bits of food going, so a seat next to him was prime real estate. Secondly, he was in good with the black market going on, which meant that Klaus could rely on James to top him up with smokes and whatever he might need to stave off the ghosts. In return for the food, the drugs, a handful of rifle lessons and much more, Klaus saved James life. Over and over.

Really, it wasn’t deliberate. Or at least, that deliberate. Reckless behavior had always, essentially, been a personality trait of his, and he was so accustomed to death that he barely blinked in the face of it. The front line was sure as shit scary, even for him. But dying? Less so. He’d shielded James from harm one too many times, often literally. The men of their squad made jokes, said that God didn’t want Klaus yet, and that he was a lucky bastard who couldn’t die. Some part of Klaus wondered if maybe they were right, because goddammit if he wasn’t trying. Last time they’d been out on the field, he’d pushed James out of the way of gunfire, saving him by mere milliseconds, and he could’ve sworn that the bullet should’ve hit him instead. But no. By some miracle, he remained alive. He volunteered to go last every time on patrols and scouting, at the back, where he was most vulnerable. He was always first into the line of fire, recklessly charging ahead while others stayed shielded and safe. He used his body to shield people like his flesh alone could stop anything. He took risks. He stayed alive. 

He didn’t really know why he stayed.

Maybe part of him fancied dying a ‘hero’. He figured, dying in a war beat dying of an overdose, probably alone on the streets, with no-one but his fucked up family to mourn him (and argue at the funeral). Deeper down, though, he knew that there was something else that held him there and kept him from opening that briefcase. The men, the team, they _liked_ him. They talked to him and included him in late night card games, where he surprised himself and others by completely holding his own. His relationship with James was based on helping each other out, but he put up with all of Klaus' antics with a roll of the eyes and a shake of his head, and nothing more.

There was a sense of comradery he’d found that he hadn’t known he’d craved so deeply. This wasn’t like his family, where they’d fought together in Reginald’s orchestrated battles. This was something new. Somewhere new. Where he could exist and fight and begin again.

He didn’t open the briefcase. And the days went by and he still didn’t open it, because if he died in Vietnam, he didn’t die as Number 4. He died as Klaus Hargreeves.

 

***

 

Klaus was friendly with the whole squad. He flirted outrageously, as he always did, and made wildly inappropriate jokes and was ribbed on in return. The guys were fun, they liked him and he liked them. Out of the entire squad, though, there was one person he avoided like the plague.

Dave.

They’d had a few conversations when they’d arrived on base. Klaus had never really clicked with anyone before, not straight away, but he clicked with Dave. Over Klaus’ first meal in the mess hall, they’d traded stories, and it had been easy in a way it had never been for Klaus. Dave’s were simple family stories, stories of past jobs and light hearted tales. They were sickeningly sweet, and cute. Klaus, in return, created outrageous tales, each more outrageous than the last, based mostly off of the truth, and gesticulated wildly and dramatically through all of it. He did it mostly to make Dave laugh, and he flirted, too, like he naturally did. And here was the thing, Dave flirted back. He was sure of it. That set him off kilter, right away, because attraction was one thing, but attraction to a gentlemen like Dave in the 60s? In the army? That was asking for trouble. He told himself it made sense to ignore Dave after those first few days, it was only sensible. He couldn’t have a quick night with someone on his team, he wouldn’t be that guy (and, oh look, he had _morals_ now, that was new). But it was more than that. He didn’t just avoid Dave because he was awkwardly attracted to him (and what sane, non-straight man wouldn’t be).

No. He avoided Dave because he looked at him all too knowingly when Klaus lit a cigarette with trembling hands. And there was anger and fear in his eyes, glared into the back of Klaus’ head, when they came back dirty covered and tired from a mission where Klaus had put himself in danger _again_. No. He avoided Dave because he cared. And Klaus didn’t know what to do with someone like that- someone who cared.

So, he handled it like an adult. By running away every time Dave came within a few feet of him.

Tonight, though, it looked as if he had nowhere to escape to.

“You sharing?”

Klaus cracked an eye open and looked up from where he was lazing on the ground, smoking. He was in one of the regularly frequented spots they weren’t technically supposed to go to, but everyone did, for a bit of privacy. Klaus had been seeing dead men all day, milling around and staring at him with sad eyes, and he needed a break.

Dave was stood over him. Figuring he may as well just give in, and that he couldn’t run away this time, not without being really obvious,  Klaus nodded.  
  
“Sure.” He passed over the joint. Dave took it, and joined Klaus on the dusty floor. He leant back against the building, and sprawled his legs out, boots landing heavy in the dirt.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a moment, then Klaus swivelled to sit cross-legged, facing Dave. He propped his head up on one hand and stared at him for a long moment. Trying to figure him out. Dave huffed a laugh.

“Something on my face?”

“Just didn’t know you smoked.” Klaus answered, and it was true, he hadn’t known. Though nearly every soldier on base smoked something, sometime. You’d go nuts if you didn’t. Half of them were on something harder or stronger, Klaus included. But he wasn’t just staring for that. He searched Dave’s face for answers, answers to why this man cared about _him_ , Klaus, so much.

“I don’t really,” Dave admitted, “Not much. Take some Molly sometimes, but not often. I prefer to keep a clear head on base. If my wits aren’t with me, well.” He shook his head.

“Reckon I’d end up dead a lot quicker if my head wasn’t on straight, you know?”

“Sure, sure.” Klaus agreed, half-heartedly. Nonchalantly. Dave inhaled sharply, as if Klaus had confirmed something for him with his answer. Dave glanced over at him, and his eyes were sad. Klaus didn’t like it.

“What?”

“It’s like you want to die, sometimes.” Dave said and effectively robbed Klaus of any words. He froze, unsure of what to say and how to brush it off. Klaus was good at turning any situation into a light-hearted joke. But he didn’t really know how to escape this. Fortunately, Dave didn’t seem to be looking for a reply.  
  
“I see you out there sometimes, and fuck, sometimes my heart nearly stops at some of the risks you take. Couldn’t decide if you were a crazy son of a bitch or brave as hell, at first.”

Dave laughed lightly in disbelief.  
  
“Shit, I mean, you must have saved my life dozens of times already.”

Klaus said nothing and Dave passed him back the joint. He accepted it wordlessly.  
  
“You should look out for yourself more.” Dave said and Klaus was so confused and tired from their week, and what did this sweet and beautiful man want from him?

“Why do you care?” He asked, and he meant it to sound brusque and indifferent but it came out pleading. Why _did_ Dave care? He was just Klaus, he’d barely spoken to Dave, not in weeks. They weren’t even friends, he’d made sure of that by avoiding him like the plague. Dave just looked at him like he was crazy and shrugged.

“I don’t like seeing good men die. Especially not in our squad.”

He said it like it was obvious. Plain and simple. Klaus stared at him, gobsmacked, and then looked at the floor. Dave stretched, and Klaus resolutely Did Not Look, and he got to his feet.

“Thanks for the smoke,” Dave said, lightly. As if he hadn’t rendered Klaus speechless. “See you at dinner.”

He walked away, his footsteps fading as he made his way back to their barracks. Klaus stared helplessly after him.

 _Good men_. Klaus smiled in bewilderment. Then he frowned. Dave thought he was a _good_ man. It felt utterly pathetic, that this one piece of praise, one of the few pieces of genuine praise he’d ever received in his entire life, had wrongfooted him so completely. He stared vacantly at nothing, tried to think of nothing, but Dave’s puzzled expression after Klaus had asked why he’d care kept popping into his vision.  
  
“Fuck.” He said out loud. “Fuck, fuckity, fuck.”

 God, he was so screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you fancy commenting pls let me know if u think this fic should be:
> 
> wrapped up at the canon death and outrageously sad or a fix-it (there will still be sad with that option)?


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